


Holby Cathedral

by Sapphicsarah



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphicsarah/pseuds/Sapphicsarah
Summary: In the dark ages, hospitals were found in monasteries and ancient churches. One day, a Knight arrives and meets the healer of Holby Cathedral. Medieval AU for anon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Playing fast and loose with history. This is all mirth and no matter.

It is raining the day she arrives. Her horse is tired, the village dark, and the cathedral rising above the land like a pillar reaching out for heaven itself. The silver metal of her armor weighs her down, and the rain makes the burden all the more heavy. She still wears her helmet, despite the battle being won many miles behind her. The Lord she was currently working for had sent her to the village to seek treatment, the wound on her neck making it hard to continue fighting. She had fought him, claiming it was nothing. But the stiffness in her neck and the blood oozing slowly but steadily down her throat has her worried.

She steers her horse Charlotte towards the cathedral, the lights in the windows beckoning her. They promise warmth and dryness out of the storm. The round window above the large wooden doors is rose and pink, spirals of stained glass glowing in the candlelight. Rainwater spills out of gargoyle’s mouths, sentries of the roof greeting her with a wicked grin. When they near the entrance she turns towards her squire.

“Find out where the nuns are,” she grumbles.  Her strength is fading, and she feels drowsy. She notices the lights of the village have gone fuzzy, the world a strange mesh of gold and rain. She goes to shake her head, to shake off the dimness, but quickly remembers the wound and simply winces and closes her eyes instead.

Cameron mutters a “Yes, Sir Wolfe,” and hops off his own horse. He runs through the enormous doors and disappears.

Berenice hangs her head and waits. Villagers gather in their thresholds and stare, but she ignores them. She must look a fright, a wounded knight with blood on her neck, her horse dirty and her armor chinked and caked with mud and blood. The looks do not bother her, have not bothered her for decades. A lady knight is not unheard of, but it is an oddity. So she keeps her hair short, her voice gruff, and her arms stronger than most men’s.

Her arms do not feel strong now though. They rest on her lap, gripping the reigns and she looks down and feels the rain drip down. She sees blood fall onto her hands with the raindrops _. I should have come sooner_ , she thinks.

She slowly raises her head and looks for Cameron’s return. The cathedral is mighty, made of colossal stone and mortar. It is tall and grand and clearly unfinished. It takes decades, sometimes centuries to erect a cathedral, and Bernie knows the building process will outlive several chief architects and builders.

This particular cathedral is famous. The _hôtel-Dieu_ , is run by the healers, monks and nuns of the religious community, and it is known far and wide for its care. Wars have created a need for hospitals attached to monasteries and churches. Holby Cathedral is certainly grand, ancient and yet unfinished, but the hospital serves all; refugees, the poor, pilgrims, travelers, and soldiers from the wars. Bernie knows she will be well cared for here, having sent several men here before. They had all returned to her well rested and stronger than before.

Bernie never thought she would need the healing services of the nuns. Yet here she is, knocking at their door in the rain. She looks up as Cameron approaches with a woman behind him but feels the darkness sinking in, and she begins to fall off her horse. The world goes black before she even hits the ground.

…

Bernie wakes slowly, the world a hazy shining of torches and unfamiliar stone. She is warm, and the first thing she realizes is that she is by a fire. She does not turn her head but opens her eyes and looks up at the arches of the ceiling, high above her. Her training kicks in, and she takes in her surroundings. She knows this must not be the sanctuary, but a side hall dedicated to healing the sick and wounded. The fire is at one end of the hall and Bernie can feel she is on a bed of straw, tucked away underneath a fur. She hears others, the soft padding of feet on the floor as someone approaches.

Bernie moves to pull the fur higher up, realizing she is not wearing her armor any longer. Rather, she is in her tunic and leggings. She wonders where Cameron is, and hopes he is cleaning the armor and that he has been fed. Her own stomach growls at the thought of food and she moves to sit up.

Suddenly, she feels a soft hand on her chest. It pushes her gently back down into the straw.

“I would not do that if I were you.”

Bernie follows the hand up until it meets a shoulder, a neck, and then a pairs of dark eyes. The woman is dressed in a simple green gown, and a belt clings to her hips. Bernie licks her lips just at the sight of her but quickly remembers herself. She allows herself to be pushed back, and she clears her throat before asking, “What happened? I… I think I fell off my horse?”

The woman smiles and moves to kneel beside her on the cathedral floor.

“Yes, and it was a great deal of trouble to wrangle you out of that armor of yours. Your squire was nearly beside himself.”

Bernie smiles at this. Cameron was almost loyal to a fault and she is sure he was a terror while she was asleep. She feels the pain of the neck wound return and she winces, her hand coming up to touch the skin there. Her fingers meet cloth and she furrows her brow before turning to the woman beside her.

“We cleaned the wound and I stitched it back together. You were lucky you came when you did. You’d lost a great deal of blood.” The woman reaches out and takes Bernie’s hand and shakes her head. “I would not touch it for a few more hours. Not until the morning.”

Bernie is lying down fully again and the woman is closely hovering and so she hears Bernie’s stomach growl once more. The woman laughs at the grumbling and says “I’ll have Fletch get you something to eat.” She stands and moves away and Bernie feels suddenly lost without her in this unfamiliar place.

She lies still, allowing the warmth of the fur and the fire to seep into her. It had been many days since she had been dry and warm. Tents on the battle field did little to shield one from the rain or protect from the dampness of the ground, and the bed of straw feels like a luxury.

A man appears and he introduces himself as Fletch. He helps her to eat, knowing she cannot sit up. He is kind and has a nice smile, but is clearly no monk. Bernie wonders at this as she finishes the little she can manage to eat before she feels the heaviness of sleep take her, the warmth of the fire crackling and willing her to slumber.

She wakes again and thinks it must be morning. Gone is the warmth of the fire and she does not hesitate to sit up this time. She groans at the stiffness of her body and she reaches up to gently finger the cloth covering her neck. It is dry and Bernie thinks the stiches must still be intact and turns to look for Cameron.

She spies her armor in an ordered heap by the wall, the Wolfe crest adorning her helmet. She slowly stands and moves stiffly toward her things, but before she can reach it Cameron appears in a whirlwind of energy.

“You’re up!” He grins and holds up a large loaf of bread. “I’ve got breakfast!”

“So it would seem,” she mutters in response before turning back to the bed. Leaving it had been rather ambitious, and she begins to feel lightheaded. Cameron reaches out to support her elbow but gets a glare from her instead. Bernie turns back to her quest and slowly moves back across the floor before sitting down unassisted.

Cameron breaks off a piece of the loaf and hands it to her before sitting down on the ground by the bed. Bernie takes the breakfast and looks around, noting the small hall and the other beds scattered about. There seem to be no other patients and they are entirely alone. They eat in silence.

After a few minutes the woman and Fletch enter the hall and Bernie moves to stand in greeting before thinking otherwise. She sinks back down and the woman comes forward and reaches out her hand in greeting.

“Good morning. I am Serena, the head healer at Holby Cathedral. And this is Fletch, I believe you met last night.”

Bernie takes the offered hand and bows her head over it, her forehead nearly touching the skin. It is the expected greeting of a knight to a lady. She looks back up, still holding Serena’s hand and notices the woman is smiling softly. “I am honored, my lady.”

“Serena will do fine. We don’t really stand on ceremony here.” Bernie releases her hand and tilts her head to give Serena room as she reaches out to touch the dressing at her neck. She winces as the fabric is pulled back but realizes there is little pain there.

“Very good,” Serena murmurs as she observes the wound before turning to her companion. “Fletch, see how the redness has gone down and there is little swelling?”

Fletch comes closer and nods his head saying “No sign of puss or other discharge.” He stands up and backs away as he smiles down at Bernie. “Looks wonderful.”

Bernie glances up and sees Serena rolling her eyes. “Well, wonderful may be a bit of a stretch.” She turns to Bernie and says kindly “There may be a scar, but it is healing nicely. We will keep the dressing on for another week, give it time to heal some more.”

“Thank you,” Bernie mumbles, looking down at the ground. Serena’s eyes are sparkling and it is almost too much. Serena comes closer again to place the fabric over her neck, securing it with some sort of salve that seals it in place.

“You don’t look like nuns,” Bernie blurts out. She closes her eyes for a moment at her own awkwardness before she glances at Cameron, who seems slightly embarrassed by his master.

Serena laughs at Bernie’s observation and says “Well, we may not be but we prefer to live like nuns down here. It keeps us sharp.” She laughs again and nods to Cameron before leaving, as a man calls to her from the entrance at the other end of the hall.  

Bernie turns to watch her go and does not move her gaze from the arched doorway until Serena has disappeared. She turns back and looks to Fletch, her brow furrowed in confusion.

He smiles and explains “She just means that we are both unmarried.”

“Ah,” Bernie utters before she begins to eat more bread. “I just thought the healers at Holby were nuns and monks.”

Fletch laughs and says “Well, it used to be that way. But now Serena is the head healer, and she does a good job too. Teaches anyone who wants to learn. That man who called her away is her protégé, Raf. Used to be a farmer before he turned up here. Serena has made him a great healer.”

Bernie turns back to the doorway where Serena had disappeared. The woman interested her. She was beautiful and intelligent, and her eyes had sparkled. Strange… Bernie had not felt such things in a long, long time.

She clears her throat and looks to Cameron once more. “What news?”

Cameron’s grin fades and he looks to the ground, precious bread forgotten in his lap. Bernie feels her heart sink and she thinks she knows his answer. “Cameron…” she gently prods.

He looks up again and confesses, “There was a messenger in the night.”

Bernie closes her eyes. After a moment she whispers “And?”

“The army has moved on. Lord Self has left and is heading east.”

Bernie shakes her head. She had fought alongside many Lords. None had been as arrogant as Lord Self, and she feels almost relieved he has abandoned them. Being a mercenary knight has its perks after all. Bernie can now look for a better man to fight for, a better cause.

“Good riddance, I say,” Bernie declares and she opens her eyes. She knows Cameron had not like Lord Self either and is pleased at the uncertain joy slowly spreading on her squire’s face.

“There is always another army,” she points out kindly. “Now go and find a blacksmith to sharpen my sword,” she commands.

Cameron springs up and hoists her sword from the ground by her armor before disappearing out the hall as well. Bernie sighs with the solitude and looks down at her boots. Her hand reaches up to fiddle with the cloth and she frowns. She knows Cameron will never be a warrior. He is too kind, too gentle for battle. Perhaps staying in this village will do them both good. Bernie has grown weary of late. The constant traveling and fighting has taken its toll on her aging body and mind.

She slowly stands and walks to the other end of the hall, hoping to do some exploring while she decides what to do. Her breath catches as she enters the main hall. She looks down the length of the church towards the east. The sun is still ascending, and the glass of the windows captures the light and splinters it into a thousand shards of color on the floor. Bernie marvels at the craftsmanship and detail and walks slowly back towards the main entrance. She notices some windows are half finished, the morning wind wandering in and after a time meandering out the door.

Bernie follows the wind and steps into the sunlight. The world is still damp from the evening rain, and it lingers in the fog coming down from the mountains and the forest over the hill. Bernie breaths in deeply before turning to search for the stables. She wanders around the side of the cathedral, looking up frequently to see how high it goes. A courtyard is near the back and Bernie thinks she can smell horses. As she crosses towards a small building that looks promising she hears angry muttering and stops.

There at the corner of the courtyard sits Serena, muttering over a dog that seems to be refusing his meal.

“Has he been growling or whining?” Bernie calls without thinking as she approaches.

Serena turns with a start and stands up. Her confusion fades as she sees Bernie coming closer. “Whining. He is refusing to eat.”

“He might have a toothache.”

“Sounds bad,” Serena dead pans, eye brows rising.

Bernie smiles at this and murmurs “It is if you want him to go anywhere. Or eat anything.” She bends down to take a look, gently prying open the dog’s mouth. She spies a rotten tooth and reaches back before gently pulling it out, knowing it would have been loose for a while already.

“There,” she states with pride, looking up at Serena who is standing above her now, eyes on the dog.

“Funny, you don’t look like a dog, apart from the surname Wolfe.”

Bernie laughs. “Funny,” she says with a guffaw. “Animals are sometimes easier to understand than humans. And I’m no wolf, despite what you may have heard.”

“Pity,” Serena says with a wicked smile. “We could use some excitement around here.” She bends down and strokes the animal, which now seems more comfortable. Serena murmurs softly to it as she soothes his fur. “Life of an old dog yet, huh Ric?”

Bernie laughs again before looking at her feet. She places her hands in her pockets and attempts to relax. The woman was strangely bewitching, this healer of Holby Cathedral.

“Are you looking for your horse?” Serena asks after a moment of easy silence. Bernie looks up and Serena points over towards a building across a field. “We put her in the stables, she is clean and fed.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Bernie murmurs. She turns to walk away but stops as she feels an arm on her elbow.

“Serena… my name is Serena.” She says it with a kindness in her eyes.

“Serena,” Bernie repeats softly, like a prayer. She smiles back at Serena and only turns to walk away once Serena’s hand has dropped to her side. Bernie’s elbow tingles for hours.

She finds Charlotte and feeds her a carrot, speaks softly into her ear, tells her she is the best horse in the entire universe. Cameron finds her and they sit in the shade of an elm tree at the edge of the field, Charlotte grazing nearby. The two of them eat apples Cameron found in the marketplace and Bernie relaxes against the mighty trunk, letting the golden afternoon come gently with warm sunlight and puffy clouds.

Bernie watches Cameron, who is sleeping in the tall grass, lulled to sleep by the drowsy warmth of the afternoon. She thinks they will stay here. He has not slept well on the fields and here they can be at peace. Bernie had left the Far East a long time ago and returned to England. She had intended on living a peaceful life but had been saddled with a squire and a restless soul that nagged and urged her to wander, searching for what she knows not. But this village is sprawling and lively, it snakes across the valley on both sides of the river and is almost more akin to a city than a small gathering of thatched roofs. Bernie thinks it will be good for both of them to rest awhile. To sleep in the same place for more than one night.

Sleep had been troubling her. Bernie dreams and dreams and knows that a city will not be the best place to stay. The teeming sounds are comforting during the day, the grinding details of fisherman shouting, farmer’s with their cattle, children shouting and singing in their play. This clamor turns to howls in Bernie’s mind, twists and turns to bitterness and she dreams of fallen men and sees their phantoms following her in the dark.

The city will be a hard place, but she thinks it will be worth it, for Cameron’s sake. She will have to make a go of it.

But that night, once more by the fire, she wakes with a start, panting and crying out for men long gone. Her comrades fallen in the desert sands, fighting for a God that never comes. Cameron is there to bring her water. He does not say a word, and she thanks him only with a hand on his shoulder. He knows from experience that words will be no comfort and they sit in silence until the cathedral comes into focus once more and her mind leaves the in-between and is firmly back in this world.

She does not sleep again.

In the morning she meets the Monk Hanssen. His quiet demeanor suits Bernie and she likes him instantly. She tells him she is looking for work, and not that required of a knight. Hanssen asks if she is experienced in the medicine of battle, the fixing of bones and cauterizing of wounds. Any knight who fights long enough becomes adept at such things, and the monk knows that a knight Bernie’s age would be a great healer in her own right, although a healer of battle, quick and brutal.  

So Bernie finds herself working for a hospital, a _hôtel-Dieu,_ and she smiles at the irony. A soldier becoming a healer, like the surgeon’s knife that can be healing when used to assuage suffering.

Cameron works with Fletch, follows him around like a puppy and stores away any information given to him. He blossoms and shines with the work, greeting villagers as old friends and helps Raf to treat sores and dislocated shoulders.

Bernie works with Serena, who makes Bernie laugh nearly every day. They deliver babies, blue and squealing on the cathedral floor, and hold an old woman’s hand as she breaths her last. Serena sets fingers broken in a farming accident, helps a young boy who was stepped on by a horse. And the days blend together until nearly a month has gone by.

Bernie’s neck is healed and she finds she misses Serena’s daily inspection, her fingers on her skin and her face close to Bernie’s.

They work well together but Serena can see that Bernie is not sleeping, that the dreams follow her still. It is the city, the noise, and the endless chatter of people. In the army the night is quiet, to prevent detection but also out of pure physical exhaustion. Soldiers rarely stay up to see the stars unless they are on the night watch.

Bernie meets Serena’s nephew, a young man with an unnerving stare but the brightest smile Bernie has ever seen. He works with the builders, exacting the weight of each stone before it is hoisted up to its resting place in the walls of the cathedral. Jason likes Bernie and claims she must be the world’s strongest man when he sees her hoisting a villager one day, helping them up the large steps at the cathedral door. She laughs at this and says she is no man. Jason does not seem to mind.

Jason also sees that she is not sleeping. He points it out one evening as they sit under the elm tree on the outskirts of the city. He says it in that blunt way of his, straight and to the point. “You look terrible.”

Bernie laughs and Cameron looks nervous as they eat a dinner of cheese and bread. He always was protective.

“Cameron says you do not sleep well.”

Bernie turns to her squire, who now looks rather guilty. “Does he?”

Jason nods and says “Aunty Serena thinks you could come and stay with us. We live in a cottage in the forest. We have a stream and a fireplace and it is very quiet. You would sleep well there.”

Bernie nearly chokes on her cheese at the invitation.  Although she and Serena had become fast friends, she doubts she would be able to handle living under the same roof. It would be too much.

“Thank you Jason, but I think it would be rather difficult having two lodgers and a horse in a cottage.” She says it kindly, but Jason looks sad all the same.

“Aunty Serena thinks it will help with your dreams.”

“She…she knows about my dreams?” Bernie asks quietly. She turns to Cameron who is pointedly looking anywhere else. “Cameron…”

“Oh Bernie don’t tease the boy.” Serena’s voice surprises her and she turns to see the healer coming near them, a basket of apples on her hips. She is wearing a blue dress today, and she looks like the sea as the fabric flows around her.

Serena tosses her an apple and Bernie catches it. She turns it over and over in her hands before taking a bite. Serena settles next to her, her back against the trunk of the tree and she looks out towards the river at the foot of the valley.

After a time she whispers “Come home with me.”

Bernie looks at her and moves to decline the offer. But Serena shakes her head and says softly, “It is quiet, and my bed is large. No one will be there if you wake except me.”

Bernie is once more spellbound. Serena’s words enchant her, and she finds herself surrendering.

“Alright.”

Serena smiles.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

So the next day she follows Serena home. Bernie walks beside Serena and leads Charlotte with a gentle hand on the reigns. They follow the winding dirt road that grows thinner and thinner as they leave the village. It curves behind a hill and spills into a valley before disappearing into the trees. There the road fades into a faint path, worn and trodden by man and beast, narrow and hard. The forest is dark and deep and the trees grow thick about them. Bernie turns to look back at the road and already feels swallowed by the hedge. She turns forward and only sees massive tree-trunks, straight and bent and twisted, gnarled. The branches high above their heads create broken pockets of sunshine on the forest floor and the grass grows ever higher to meet it.

The darkness of the woods is not oppressive and Bernie is not afraid. White flowers grow at the foot of the trees and birds are singing sweetly. It is teeming with life, and Bernie turns to Serena and smiles in quiet awe at this peaceful world, tucked away from villagers and battles.

The narrowness of the path makes it necessary for them to walk single file, and Bernie takes the opportunity to watch Serena. This woman is a wonder herself. How strange it is to feel so drawn to another after such a short amount of time. Had it really been only a month since she arrived at Holby in the dark and damp of the rain?

Serena is so unlike Bernie, a healer; soft and yet supremely powerful, with a shining smile that could charm snakes. Her brown hair glows in the sunlight peeking through the vaulted roof of the trees, and Bernie also takes the opportunity to admire Serena’s other features. The sway of her hips distracts her and she nearly trips on a stone underfoot. She blushes at her own thoughts and her lips turn up in a smile, knowing it is good to feel this way, to feel attraction and admiration for another woman. Serena probably does not feel the same way, but it is enough to walk beside her and to be her friend.

Staying here had been a good decision and she is glad she decided to make a go of it, to live a peaceful life. Cameron is already lighter than she had ever seen him, happy even. He and Jason would be spending the night at Raf’s home in the village this evening. There was a festival with plays, and music, and traveling troupes. The two of them wanted to take in the general splendor and would therefore not be able to travel home in the night.

They walk for a quarter of an hour through the soft shade of the trees. Then, the light grows clearer and they are suddenly in a small clearing, with blue sky above them and a stream to their left. The leaves surrounding the glade are thick and green, and it almost feels enclosed and walled off by the branches and thickets. It is a cheerful place, with a cottage tucked at the far end near a small and charming garden of herbs and root vegetables.

The cottage is small, with a chimney peeking out of the moss-covered roof. It blends into the woods itself and Bernie thinks one could keep walking on the path and not see it, so well did it resemble the surrounding forest.

“Welcome to my home,” Serena says, gesturing to the clearing with a flourish of her hand. She turns to Bernie with a proud smile and places her hand upon Bernie’s elbow and squeezes gently in reassurance. Serena then walks off the path and towards the far end of the clearing.

For a moment Bernie can only gaze after her. Serena was a tactile person, always touching villagers and playfully swatting Fletch’s children, guiding Raf, and calming Cameron. And she always reassures Bernie. Serena has a healer’s hands, and they always reach out to do good, to mend. Her gentle touches are common, but Bernie cannot get used to them.

Bernie leaves Charlotte to graze in the small pasture and follows Serena over the threshold and into the house. It is close and worn, yet glowing with warmth that permeates Bernie and makes her feel safe. The main room is filled with many candles, tall and yellow, with wax clinging to the sides and the bottom. Two large chairs sit next to the hearth and a wooden table is stood by the wall. Round windows bring the sunlight in, and two bed chambers branch off of the main room at either end. Bernie places her bag in the room with Serena’s bed before coming back out to watch Serena begin making their supper.

It is a vegetable stew, thick and hardy, and Bernie slurps it down quickly. Serena smiles at her eagerness and they eat in compatible silence. This is another thing Bernie loves about being near Serena. There is no courtly conversation, no need to speak unless  they desire it. They have a language of their own, they speak it with their eyes, their fingers and shoulders, in the way Serena’s eyebrows raise with merriment. It is Bernie’s favorite thing about working at the cathedral.

It is the height of summer and so the sun will not vanish for several hours. So Serena and Bernie sit by the stream, Serena’s back against a willow. The roots are large and winding, and they dip into the water to drink. Bernie feels Serena watching her, feels her gaze and thinks Serena is the only one in the world who ever looked at her and saw her.  Saw beyond the armor and the sword, beyond the low voice, and the dark eyes.

Serena asks softly “What do you dream?”

Bernie closes her eyes. She has never told a soul, not even Cameron. But Serena sees her, understands, and does not push. So Bernie replies.

“I dream of blood.” She breaths in the early evening air, gathering her strength and feels Serena grasp her hand. “Blood on the sand, in the rivers, in the snow on the mountains. Blood on my hands and Cameron lying dead at my feet.”

Bernie begins to cry. “I see my men all around me, lost and alone. Sometimes we are in a fog, it creeps in and we cannot see each other. Only shout as if we are a great distance apart, when I know I could reach out and touch them a moment ago. The battlefield can be a disorienting place.”

“You’ve fought all your life,” Serena whispers softly.  “Haven’t you.”

“Yes,” Bernie murmurs back.

“And now Bernie?  What do you fight now?”

“My own darkness.” Bernie lets the tears fall and opens her eyes to turn to Serena, who looks to her with infinite tenderness.

“Come then, my lady knight.” She takes Bernie’s hand and pulls her closer. “Come and dream no more by the forest stream.” Serena whispers “I will fight any who dare come near and disturb you.”

Bernie smiles faintly at this and lays her head in Serena’s lap. The babbling stream trips and flows over stones underneath the clear waters. The trees sway in the breeze, and the sunset kisses her eyelids as they slip shut. Serena’s healing fingers stroke her hair and Bernie falls asleep to her gentle humming and the singing of the birds.

Serena wakes her when the darkness of night covers the land and they walk into the cottage together. Bernie is hesitant, unsure, and Serena chuckles at Bernie’s uncertainty. She pulls her down and they curl side by side, not touching, but close enough to feel each other’s warmth. They sleep like this for many weeks, side by side on the wooden platform. It is a change for Bernie, and she still dreams at times, despite the quietness of the forest.

On these nights Serena will pull Bernie to her, sing softly, or simply talk. It soothes Bernie, makes her feel safe, draws her back from her own past. But she always pulls away once Serena is sleeping peacefully. The intimacy frightening and the desire burning, until Bernie feels as if she will set the entire forest ablaze with her yearning.

The autumn comes, and the trees are on fire with the dying of the leaves, reds and oranges falling to the ground, covering the forest floor, and making the path hard to find. The nights grow cold, and the stars more piercing.

Jason likes to have a fire in the dark in the center of the clearing in order to watch the stars. Cameron tells him that Bernie knows all the stories of the constellations, and Jason eagerly waits for a new one every time they gather together on a clear night.

She tells Jason that there are stories in the stars, in their shapes that march across the night sky. There is one about a dragon called Jac who rescued a princess named Zosia. The dragon swept down and plucked the princess from her castle and took her to the caves in the mountain. Zosia loved the coldness of the caverns and decided to stay with the dragon, who offered her freedom, love, and adventure.

Many princes and knights came to take Zosia away, thinking they were rescuing the princess from the beast. But Jac burned them all to dust and ruin and warmed Zosia with the fire in her heart. They outlived kingdoms and queens and lived happily all their days. And when they died the two became a pattern of stars, burning forever side by side in the skies.

This tale is Jason’s favorite. Jason says all good love stories should have a monument like that, a tribute of something so great and vast. Bernie says she agrees and looks at Serena in the firelight.

One day, after they lose a baby in the night, Bernie and Serena are exhausted. They wander back to the cottage, bone tired and hearts heavy. Bernie collapses into the chair that has somehow become hers in the short time she has lived here. Serena looks at her for a moment before disappearing into the cupboard. She twirls around with a grin on her face and holds up a bottle triumphantly. 

"NO!" Bernie gasps. 

"Yes," Serena says, moving to uncork the bottle and passing it to Bernie. She sits across from her in her own chair and crosses her arms in glee. 

"You stole sacramental wine from the nuns! You are a rebel."

"Takes one to know one," Serena chirps back.

"My kind of girl," Bernie says with a smile before taking a healthy swig from the bottle.

"Good?" Serena asks.

"Very," Bernie answers. She passes the bottle to Serena and they proceed to get very drunk indeed. Bernie has seen Serena drink before, at a tavern in the city owned by a man named Albert. But this is different. This is in their home, alone, and by the fire. The evening passes in a haze of candlelight, and they make each other laugh, trying to forget the young mother they left behind in the city. Bernie tells her tales of battle and Serena talks about her training days, stumbles and mistakes made in her youth. It is pleasant and warm in the cottage, and that night neither question it when they hold each other in the dark. Bernie's arms wrapped around Serena, whose head is tucked underneath Bernie's chin.

Bernie dreams that night, but for the first time in many years they are kind. 

It all changes one night in November. The howling winds are cold and sharp as knives on the skin and the world is barren and dark. They are both riding the horse through the forest and Bernie's arms are wrapped around Serena's waist, pulling her close to keep her warm. The closeness is intoxicating and after they put Charlotte away in the stable Bernie built they still remain close.

And when they are both in bed, shivering with the cold Serena sits up and looks down at Bernie. She whispers, careful so that Jason and Cameron do not hear. 

"Let me kiss you?" 

Bernie whispers back to her savior in the dark. 

"Alright."

Serena leans down and smiles, her lips gently brushing Bernie's. 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Kissing becomes a common thing. They kiss in the morning by the lingering embers of the fire, on the journey to the city, in the stables by the cathedral, anywhere and everywhere. Sometimes they are so desperate they sneak into barns in the middle of fields. Barns are good. The embraces are soft brushes of lips on lips, slow and searching, comforting and gentle. And then harsh and fast and desperate, Serena moaning with her head tilted back and Bernie’s hand in her hair. It is intimately wonderful and Bernie anticipates every single kiss, each one different and more heavenly than the last. She grows accustomed to the taste of Serena.

Bernie becomes accustomed to other things as well. She meets Mo, Serena’s friend who is also a healer and heavily pregnant. She waddles into the cathedral one day, a sweetbread from the bakery in her hand and a cheerful voice raised in greeting. Bernie grins as Mo chats endlessly with Serena, the two of them talking a mile a minute, their own shared language learned through years of friendship. Their schemes and love of all things culinary become customary conversation topics for Bernie.

Bernie gets accustomed to dying in the courtyard of the cathedral. She falls to her knees as Mikey and Evie stab her with wooden swords. They declare themselves The Conquerors of the World as they raise their swords above their heads and run around Bernie, who slowly and dramatically dies in the snow, begging for mercy from the Great Mikey and Evie. Ella and Theo giggle and run to heal her with hugs and their magical cuddles. They bicker over who gets to be Serena, The Wisest Healer in the World. Once she is “healed”, Bernie rises to fight another day. As she stands, she almost always catches Serena watching in the doorway, her arms crossed against the cold and a soft smile on her lips. Bernie walks over to her and smiles back as Serena reaches up to touch her.

“You have snowflakes in your hair,” she whispers. Serena tucks the hair behind Bernie’s ear and murmurs for her to come and get warm. Bernie kisses her by the fire where they met for the first time, all those months ago.

Bernie gets accustomed to supper with Celia and Jason at Albert’s Tavern. She watches Cameron attempt a conversation with Serena. He brings up poetry, Sappho to be exact. Serena asks him if that is her specialty now. Cameron goes red and stammers that he is just trying to get to know her. She smiles kindly, says she has read all of Sappho’s poetry and comes and waits with Bernie to save him from his blushes.

Conversations with Raf become common. They play tricks on Fletch, do Hanssen impressions in the sanctuary, go walking through the city at night when the fires are lit and the world is filled with cheer. Raf is Serena’s oldest friend and he proves to be a loyal companion. He tells Bernie of the old healer Adrienne, who was Serena’s mentor. Adrienne had grown weary in her old age, often coming to the cathedral and raving, calling Serena names that seemed to frighten her. Sometimes Adrienne came with her raven, the bird large and black as night, circling in the sky above the cathedral until she was led home by Serena. On those days Adrienne would slip into some foreign tongue, muttering until Serena gently hushed her, guiding her back to herself. When Adrienne died, the raven became Serena’s. It lives in a tree by the cottage, perched like a sentry on a branch overhanging the path.

Raf also tells Bernie that Serena has traveled. She has been across the sea and he says that she speaks French, can sweet talk any villager, and charm all kinds of animals. Bernie knows this to be true, since Charlotte seems to be enamored with Serena. The horse follows her everywhere, nudging her elbow and always neighing in greeting. Charlotte will only follow Bernie if she has a large juicy carrot stick in her hand. Bernie tries not to be jealous.

Serena feeds the birds of the forest as well, greets rabbits and squirrels as friends. She has a bewitching way about her, a charming ease that beguiles even the most stubborn of patients. One night, as she and Serena are intertwined together, Bernie wakes and feels restless. She moves through the cottage, a fur wrapped around her shoulders and steps out the door into the night air. A crescent moon is low in the sky, sitting just over the treetops at the edge of the clearing. The night is washed in silvery moonlight and Bernie watches her breath fog in the air, creating a fleeting white cloud. Stillness permeates the night and the chill is piercing as the raven stands watch. Bernie turns back into the cottage with a shiver and stands by the fire, holding her hands out over the glowing wood. Raf’s words echo in her head and she studies Serena’s cauldron resting above the hearth. Bernie shakes her head and walks back into the bedchamber, pulling Serena close in the darkness. Some secrets are best left alone.

Long rides with Serena become habitual. Serena shows her the countryside surrounding the city, the forest, the valley, and the foothills of the mountains. They ride for hours through the crisp winter air, Bernie’s arms wrapped around Serena and the two of them pressed together. They follow the water by the cottage, following it upstream until they reach a mighty waterfall with icicles taller than three men. The water is frozen in its decent, large and coming to a point near the river below. It sparkles in the sunlight, gleaming and casting a strange light through the forest. Bernie silently thinks there must be magic in this place.

Bernie comes to love Serena’s voice when she is touching her. Serena loves sex, embraces it with her entire being, and flings herself into the motions, the give and take. Bernie likes to tease Serena, until she whispers _please, please._ She whispers it over and over again, like an incantation floating through the night air. Serena gets flustered by the graze of fingertips on her neck and is endlessly fascinated by Bernie’s collarbones. She moans when Bernie nips her ear, gasps when Bernie takes a nipple between her teeth. She sobs when Bernie’s tongue is between her legs, and groans when Bernie slips a finger inside her. Serena grips Bernie’s hair when she is being teased, clutches her shoulders and whimpers into Bernie’s ear when she comes. Bernie never becomes accustomed to this.

The two of them are still working well together, despite never being apart for more than a few hours. Patients come from far away, through blizzards and the cold to be seen by her and Serena. The healers of Holby Cathedral are known far and wide and the work never ends. One day they see two wealthy travelers. They are on their way to their homeland where the wife will be buried. She is suffering from a wasting illness and she is frail and fragile, rapidly fading away from this world. The husband is anxious to leave, desperate that his wife see their home once more. But she dies in the afternoon, the sunlight through the stained glass window on her face and her husband holding her hand. He cries on the floor, the cold from the stones seeping into his knees and he is unable to rise for a long time. He shouts at the altar, screams to Mary and to all the Saints and walks out the Cathedral a broken man, his wife’s body being carried away by his servants.

Bernie follows him to the bottom of the stone steps and watches his caravan move away through the city. She watches the trail of torches snake its way up the hills and out of sight. When the lights have faded over the horizon she turns and sees Serena watching her. Her look is of such desperate adoration that Bernie forgets to breathe.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Serena replies.

They stand on opposite ends of the steps, looking out into the city. It begins to snow. They watch the lighting of the fire pits scattered throughout the city. Children run by the fires and warm their hands before dashing back to play. The monks begin to sing in the sanctuary, their voices lovely and deep.

Bernie does not turn back when she whispers, “You’re looking at me like you love me.”

Serena whispers back, “Love makes fools of us all, makes us do strange things, things we scare imagined.” Bernie turns and sees love staring back on the steps of Holby Cathedral.

She turns and runs to the stables.

Her armor is still there, ritualistically cleaned by Cameron and resting in the stall next to Charlotte. She wraps her fur tightly around her and hoists herself into the saddle. Clicking her tongue, she leads Charlotte out the door and into the courtyard before exiting into the streets. She realizes as she passes the crowds gathered in the Christmas Market that she is crying. She clicks her tongue again and moves quicker, calling for a path to be cleared through the crowd as she flees.

She had never intended to stay this long. The arrival of winter and the feeling of Serena’s hands in her hair had been unexpected. Cameron had found a place where he did not fear the coming of morning and Bernie had grown accustomed to peace. She had forgotten the battle cry, the dreams of blood slowly transforming to dreams of Serena’s eyes, of Jason’s laugh, and of the stars above the cottage. The slow invasion of Serena’s presence in her mind and life had been inevitable. She was in the thick of it before she realized she had been surrounded and defeated. Bernie was in love.

But everyone she loved died. Her friends falling beside her in war, their bodies swept away by rivers. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father from an old wound. He had loved her, but had always wanted a son, someone to inherit the Wolfe name, to be the Lord in their castle of rock and stone. She had wandered the world, crossing the waters to foreign lands, a stranger to all who met her. She fought for those who paid well, her sword heavy in her hand as she killed again and again.

Her life became an endless parade of armies, Lords and Kings squabbling over territory, over faith, over a painting, over debts. She had fought so long and hard and had wound up in the desert, fighting for some hollow cause for a heartless man. Alex had been there.

There in the wasteland that hid rivers and canyons of such beauty, palm trees tucked away in the dunes, villages of tents and camels. The desert had been hard and brutal, but she had fallen in love. Alex had died the day after Bernie whispered she loved her, a sword sliced through her. Her armor had glinted in the hot sun as Bernie screamed at the sky. Everyone Bernie loved died.

So Bernie leaves.

She rides through the night, follows the caravan with the mourning traveler, and when she reaches the end of the valley she looks back. She sees the unfinished steeple of the cathedral, shining against the sky, a beacon of light in the darkness. It rises above the hilltop and slowly shrinks as Bernie rides further and further away from Serena.  Bernie watches the cathedral vanish into nothingness and then turns her face away.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bernie wanders for days. 

On the fifth afternoon, Bernie looks back and sees a white storm cloud following her. It overtakes her before the sun disappears below the edge of the earth. 

The night comes quickly, as all winter nights do and Bernie staggers in the dark for hours, snow whipping around her, clawing at her face, tearing her backwards. The wind is howling in the night as it screams  _go back, go back._ She does not know if it is the wind or her heart. But she moves slowly, her hand held out in front of her, attempting to protect her face from the soft flakes made into daggers with the wind. The storm had moved quickly through the valley, taking her by surprise and rendering the world a dark blanket of white. She cannot see more than a few meters in front of her and the road has all but dissipated underneath drifts of snow. She could be anywhere, on the moors or on a frozen lake, for she has no way of knowing. It is just Bernie alone in the wilderness. 

Charlotte grows slower as the night wanes and Bernie's head begins to nod. She grows drowsy with the cold as it settles into her fingers and in her legs. Her hands are clenched on the reigns and she cannot unfurl them, her knees stiff and unmoving. She needs shelter. The darkness stretches out before her, bleak and grim as the snow grows deeper and deeper. She begins to worry when she cannot feel her feet and she panics when she realizes how foolish it was to set out on a journey with no map and little food. She ran out of food this morning. Bernie thinks of building a fire but sees no trees about her, no wood or kindling. She is entirely alone and she wonders for a wild moment if she had fallen asleep and wandered into the in-between, into another world, or if she is dead and gone. But she looks up and sees a flickering light through the flurries. Charlotte moves toward it with a whinny, the light growing larger as they approach. 

It is a torch resting against a stone wall that frames an iron gate. A lone figure stands guard, a sword in his hilt and a mace in his hand. 

"Who goes there?" he shouts into the raging storm. 

"Sir Wolfe, a knight in need of shelter," she yells back against the wind. 

The night watchman bows his head slightly at her title and waves his hand to beckon her through the gate. "Go through," he bellows. "The stables are through the courtyard."

She nods her head in gratitude before urging Charlotte through the gate. The snow lessens as she moves forward, slipping away until Charlotte's hoofs are on firm dirt. Bernie has never been so happy to see the ground. She makes her way to the stables, finding them warm and dry. A stable-hand greets her and helps her to unload the saddlebags heavy with her armor. She brushes and dries Charlotte, cooing into her ear, thanking her for carrying her through the night, for saving her once more. 

Bernie knows she should go in search of the great hall, to seek out her host and thank them for the hospitality and shelter from the storm. But the pile of straw in the back of the stall is too tempting and she lays down to rest underneath her blankets, falling asleep as soon as she settles on the dry ground. 

...

 She wakes in the mid-afternoon light, the air cold and Charlotte's breath steaming out her nostrils. Bernie rises slowly, wincing at the creaking of her knees and the stiffness of her back. She moves carefully over to Charlotte, petting her nose and resting her forehead against her neck. She breaths in the somehow comforting smells of the stable, her horse and the straw, the dirt and musky scent of man and beast. The soothing smell lingers in the air as she leaves the stall in search of food, having ensured Charlotte had breakfast first. 

 The corridors of stone are winding and dark, the winter wind meandering through and making the place appear grim. Bernie walks for a few minutes, wandering the empty hallways and shivering with the chill. She does not meet another person and begins to wonder if she is in the wrong part of the compound. Then, she hears faint singing, and enters a corridor that is brighter and warmer than the rest. 

Suddenly, she turns a corner and enters a large hall with a long table raised on a platform at the front and several tables running perpendicular to it. There is a large hearth on the right side of the hall with a giant fire flickering and casting a warm glow throughout the room. A short blonde woman sits at the head of the table with an older and kind-looking man sitting next to her. There seems to be some sort of feast happening, and each table is adorned with meats, breads, cheese, and vegetables cooked with gravy. Many men and women are drinking ale and servants rush to refill their goblets, smiling in cheer as the party begins to sing. 

_It's the solstice_ , Bernie realizes with a start. She had been traveling for many days, and had lost her way somewhere after the second sunrise. 

The high table is decorated with holly and ivy, red berries strewn across the front, and children dash about to pick them up and throw them at each other. Bernie smiles at the cheerfulness of the hall, and approaches the high table before bowing and presenting herself. She meets the Lady Estelle who rules this house with her husband Sasha. The compound is actually a small castle, nestled at the foot of the mountains in the north. Bernie had been lost indeed. 

She offers her services as a knight or a healer in return for food and shelter, at least for a time. Lady Essie accepts her services as a healer and says they have no need for warriors here, and prefer to live in peace. Bernie nods her head slowly and bows. She is led to one of the side tables and sits next to a cheerful fellow who introduces himself as Dominic. He is talkative and Bernie is content to sit and let him chatter away as she eats the offered meal before her, ravenous after a day without food. He tells her that he is the healer of the Keller household but is pleased with the arrival of Bernie. After the solstice the castle is to host a tournament, composed of jousting, sword fights, archery, and of course heavy consumption of ale. Knights should be arriving any day now, and the tournament would greatly burden Dominic as a healer. Broken bones and sprains would be the order of the day for her and Dominic. Bernie makes the appropriate remarks during mouthfuls of soup and bread, her stomach perhaps not ready for the meat. 

She devours the food and then leaves, the din and commotion of the afternoon grating on her after days alone in the wild. 

She is led to chambers overlooking the courtyard, a small bed on one end and a little hearth on the other. The window is large but can be shut with a glass door, the handle squeaking as it is pushed out. Bernie places her saddlebags by the end of the bed before settling down and hanging her head, her elbows on her knees. She is tired. The heaviness of travel and the relief of finding shelter settling on her shoulders and she lies back down to sleep once more, not bothering to start a fire in the fireplace. 

Bernie wakes with a start a few hours later, darkness covering the room and the moon shining through the window. Night had come and the storm had passed. She steps over to the window and looks up at the sky, seeing stars sparkle with the moonlight. The cold is still present and Bernie shivers, trying to remember what woke her. It had not been a dream because they had not haunted her for many months. Bernie goes still as she remembers. She had grown cold and had reached out to bring Serena closer, waking when her hands grasped at the emptiness beside her. She starts a fire instead of crying. 

A few days later the tournament is set to start, knights lodging in the stables and in the spare chambers scattered throughout the castle. The noise and general cheer is so like Holby that Bernie is sure she will go mad. So once a day she heads out of the Iron Gate, walks as far as she can until she is high above the castle at the foot of the mountain that looms above the vale. The daily pilgrimage to the mountain keeps her sanity in check, the silence making her soul go still, at least for a passing moment. She sits on a stump of a felled tree at the top of the first peak, and tries not to remember her face or her voice raised in song. 

Sometimes Dominic joins her. He arrives one day unexpectedly and the two sit in comfortable silence on the stump at the top of the world. Another day they march up the hill together, Dominic cracking jokes and trying to get Bernie to laugh. He tells her everything and she tells him nothing, but he does not seem to mind. The one thing she does tell him is to leave Isaac.  He does so the next day. 

The tournament is a popular event, since little happens in the winter months. Many villagers travel to the castle to see the knights fight. The sword fighting and archery are mere distraction and the main event is the jousting. It is quite theatrical, the stories of the knights beautifully told by the squires. Fact or fable it matters not. But the best tales are poetic and filled with danger, adventure, and romance. The colors of the knights armor are vast and diverse, some black and gold, and some deep purple and blue. The family crests rest gracefully on the helmets and on the flags of each knight. 

Bernie is amused by the gathering. These "knights" seem like boys playing at war. She doubts any of them have seen battle or bloodshed and wonders at their naïveté with the sword and the arrow. She hopes they never have to truly learn. 

A few bones are broken on the first day of the tournament. Wrists whacked too hard with the wooden sword, and one man simply tripped in the mud after enjoying the festivities. Dominic and Bernie treat them in the healer's room found in the dungeon of the castle. It had not truly been a dungeon for generations and the cells serve as beds for the wounded. The space is dry and airy, with windows high up on the wall, peaking out on the ground above. Drying herbs hang from the ceiling and pressed flowers are sweetly stacked by the fire. Bernie settles into the space but finds she misses Serena's books of herbs with her drawings of bones and of the heart. She shakes off the thought and turns to the next wounded knight. 

He is young and was foolish and had broken his foot when he fell off his horse. He looks so very much like Cameron that Bernie is shaking by the time she has finished splinting the fracture. She had promised him once that she would never leave him behind. 

On the second day of the tournament she sees it. Crows were common in the life of a knight. They follow armies, fly in circles above the battlefield, and descend on the dead to forage. These are birds of war with sharp beaks, ancient eyes, and feathers that match Death's cloak. So they go unnoticed by most when resting above the jousting field. But Bernie sees the line of silent ravens overlooking the courtyard. In the middle sits the largest of the murder, its eyes tracking Bernie's movements. 

In that moment she decides to join the jousting. 

Dominic protests as she marches through the castle, slamming on each piece of her armor as he hands it to her. She places the shoulder plates on firmly over the chainmail, each piece heavier than the last, until the full weight is resting on her body, on her soul. "You're a healer! You're not supposed to fight, you're supposed to heal the fighters!" He stammers and follows the whole way from her chambers to the field, until she turns to him with a steely look and slowly places the helmet on her head. 

"I need to fight," she growls. 

She has no experience with the event and the wooden equipment is heavy and foreign in her hand. Charlotte stands at the end of the pitch, startled by the crowd and the clamor. But she sees Bernie in her armor and goes still, suddenly prepared for battle. Bernie mounts her and slams down the viser. When the flag swishes down she flies down the field toward her faceless opponent. She has no squire and no tale preludes the match. 

The lance slams into her chest and splinters into pieces.

Wooden shards fly through the air and she falls backwards and to the ground, slamming into the hard dirt and snow. She lays still, her breath knocked out of her and her chest tight with pain. Her helmet has fallen off and lies by her right shoulder, the Wolfe crest howling at the sun.

 Snow flakes dance gracefully down from the heavens and come to rest on her eyelashes. Bernie blinks them away as a shadow crosses her face. The raven flies down and settles on the helmet, taking in Bernie in a heap on the ground. 

They look at eachother for a moment, the crowd still and watching. It cries once, the call a beckoning. 

The sound is mournful and bitter, the sorrow of the bird echoing in the courtyard. Bernie closes her eyes and does not speak. With her silence the bird takes flight, climbing high above the castle and into the clouds, leaving her alone with the lance still grasped in her hand. 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Serena wakes in the hours before dawn, when the world is all quiet and dreamy. She rolls to her side, her hand reaching out for Bernie in the darkness. It grasps at nothingness. Her breath comes out in a huff, and she closes her eyes, squinting against the tears. She rises from the bed, wraps a shawl around her and walks into the main room.

The fire in the hearth has nearly died out, the embers a glowing orange. Holding out her hands, Serena crouches and attempts to warm herself, pulling the shawl closer about her shoulders. Winter is bitter this year, the darkness oppressive and deep and Serena dreams of marching armies and drums pounding and growing louder and louder until she starts awake.

Her heart is so very heavy. It aches and pulls at her and she wipes away the tears that slowly meander down her face. Bernie left a few days ago and Cameron has wandered about, looking lost. He had slept most of yesterday, not stirring until the sun was low in the sky. His eyes were red and his shoulders were tight and Serena had made him eat some broth and bread, making sure not to hover too closely.

He does not understand why he was left behind. Neither does Serena. She shakes her head and moves to sit by the window, looking out into the fields waiting for the sunrise. Serena is angry and sad and very much in love. She has never loved like this before.

Of course there had been Edward, who had courted her and proposed marriage. She had almost gone through with it, had been fitted with a gown and a veil, had kissed him under a tree during their engagement, had wanted to love him forever. However, marriage with Edward would have been a kind of prison with servants, wifely duties, children, and monetary wealth beyond measure. But she would not have been free, her life a gilded cage. She would have been unable to wander, to walk the pathless woods and to heal. Edward had not wanted her to travel into the forest to see Adrienne, to learn the language of the earth and he did not understand her thirst for knowledge, her collection of books, the flowers pressed between the fragile pages.

Edward had loved the idea of Serena, the idea of a lady with brown hair and eyes that sparkle. Serena was not this person. She was wildness, with a darkness in her heart that he would never understand, and with a love for wine, solitude, and moonlight. So she had not married him. Her rejection had made him angry, but it had made her free.

She became a great healer, able to save people from the edge, bringing them back again and again. Serena heals with needle and thread, bandages, and salves, and prayer. But sometimes in the night she uses ancient words from scrolls, boiling water filled with powders and the contents of small glass vials, with the full moon as her only witness. Magic can be found in the strangest of places, often in the corner of one’s eye. One must simply know when to remain still, let it walk across and come to rest in the center of one’s perspective.  Stillness is hard for Bernie, but when Serena looks at her she sees magic all about her, in her eyes, her fingertips, in the snowflakes in her hair. Serena is unendingly enchanted by Bernie. 

Serena loves her.

So she brings her home, to the cottage by the water. She loves Cameron too, the bumbling squire who trips over his own words. He is so like Bernie, who rarely speaks words to trip over.

Serena whispers against Bernie’s forehead as she sleeps, puts lavender under their pillow, brings her tea that clears the mind. She heals her again and again, listens to her talk about her dreams and comes to love her so fiercely that it frightens her. The day they sit by the stream with Bernie’s head in her lap is the day she acknowledges that she is also in love with Bernie and does not simply love her. There is nothing to be done and Serena lets the sensation roll through her, the spell complete and binding.

She listens to Bernie weave tales in the firelight, pulling stories from the stars and making Jason smile. Jason loves Bernie too, and it makes Serena’s heart swell. Bernie stays for months, having come to the cathedral in the bleak rain of spring. She comes to the cottage at the height of summer, and stays until the winter settles on the frosted treetops.  

In the winter it changes. Bernie’s hands on Serena’s waist make her so desperate and her desire so urgent that Serena has to sit up in bed and beg to be allowed to kiss her. Bernie allows it, kisses her back, and it is magical.

Then it ends. Bernie becomes frightened by Serena’s love and urgency and rides away without a word.

Serena lets her go. It breaks her heart, but she lets her ride away until she is beyond Serena’s sight. However, on the fifth day Serena feels a blizzard coming over the horizon. She feels the coldness in her fingers and knows the snow will be heavy and that the sun will not shine through the clouds for many days.  She does not know if Bernie is safe from the coming of the storm. Serena does not know where Bernie is, for she is lost to Serena. So she rushes back from the cathedral, tearing through the forest, running through the snow and looking back as she sees the sky grow darker. When she reaches the cottage she goes to the tree and looks up to the raven.

“Find her.”

She waits and waits, curled up by the fire her mind clouded with terror. Jason sits with her and Cameron paces. Her heart beats like a drum in her chest and does not slow until the bird returns with the dawn, having guided Charlotte to a castle in the north. Serena falls asleep by the hearth, clutching Bernie’s pillow.

In the morning Serena stays in the cottage, unable to travel safely through the storm into the city. So she distracts herself, cooks and cleans the cottage, goes walking in the woodland. 

Days turn into weeks and she sends the raven again and again. Simply to know if Berenice Wolfe still breathes, if she still moves through the world. Serena drinks too much one night at Albert's and Raf takes her to his home. She cries because she is able to show such weakness to him and not to Jason or Cameron. They are like her children and she will not bare herself to them so. But Raf listens to her ramblings, her grief, her great sorrow. She slurs her words and falls asleep in the spare bed, waking in the morning more lost than before.

Father Hanssen comes to her in the cathedral the following evening, looming and silent. He sits her down by the fire and tells her softly.

"I know what you are."

Serena instantly stands up and staggers backwards. She reels, her mind flashing to pitchforks and stakes, mobs carrying torches and men in masks. But Hanssen continues gently, "I have known for years." 

She collapses down again, her heart beating quickly in her chest and her fingers curled into fists by her side. Her fear is palpable, running rampant through her body, her true feelings made bare in the sanctuary of their friendship. "What will you do?" 

"Nothing," he murmurs. Serena turns to him, surprise written plainly on her face. He is gazing into the fire, as if transfixed by the flames. 

"But I must warn you, people are talking." 

"People always talk," she dismisses quietly. 

"Not like this," he says before rising and gracefully slinking away. 

Serena questions Jason that night, asks him what the villagers are saying. Apparently there are rhymes, cutting and cruel and frightening. 

 

_Crazy Campbell_

_Pudding and pie_

_Kissed the knight_

_And made her cry_

 

It is not enough to flee, but it is enough to make Serena wary. She knows that she is beloved by most of the villagers, is treasured no matter what an oddity she may seem. A woman living unmarried in the forest with a garden of herbs and a nephew who has trouble understanding people can seem peculiar. But no one would dare cross her. Her grudges are famous, her words of malice biting and crackling with power.  Strange things happen to those who betray Serena Campbell. No, she is quite safe here. She has saved so many, held the hands of the dying, breathed life into babies.

"It will be alright," she says to Jason as she fiddles with the necklace around her neck. "We will be alright." 

Then she hears that Bernie fell. 

She had fallen from her horse while jousting, the utter fool. Serena makes herself stay but sends her familiar nearly every day. She feels silly for doing it, but it makes her feel better. The tiny glimpse of her far-off love, lying in a foreign castle, alone and cold keeps her sanity in check. 

Mother Imelda arrives at the cathedral two months after Bernie falls. Imelda is the former Reverend Mother of Holby Cathedral and Serena's old nemesis. The two bicker and squawk but find common ground and when Imelda's business with Hanssen is finished she finds Serena in the side hall once more. In spite of all their differences they are still both brilliant women and Imelda is no fool. She says quietly and without judgment, "I will pray for her to return to you." She marches out the wooden doors just as the bell tolls for mass, leaving Serena speechless by the fire.

The raven tells her that Bernie is healing, is growing stronger. Serena can wait no longer. Her love is too vast and colossal to carry alone. She wants her back. She needs her to come back. Her anger has faded with the winter months and the spring is rolling the darkness away.

So she writes a message, brief and to the point and sends it to soar through the clouds. 

...

 

Bernie’s back is stiff from the fall. It aches and spasms when she tries to go about her work, and Dom walks her from the dungeon all the way up to her chambers and makes her lie down. She stays there for days, the pain unbearable, and the aching almost matches the pain in her heart. Dom brings her food and water, leaves precious books on the floor by the bed, and stokes the fire. Over tea he tells her the latest gossip of the castle, informs her that Charlotte is doing well, talks about a knight that has caught his eye.  

It is unbearable, this convalescence, and it makes Bernie feel foolish. She hates being idle, and her heart yearns to be out in the world, to be useful. In here she feels as if she is wasting away.

The worst thing is that she knows she has to lie in bed. She had muttered to Dom that this was her bread and butter, that she  _knows_ she has to stay until her back does not spasm every time she walks too far. So she stays in the little room overlooking the courtyard, the moon rising and falling and the stars shining. It is hard to sleep without Serena tucked into her side and she lies awake most nights, missing the sound of her snoring.

Bernie is looking at the stars when she decides to go back.

The stars in the blackness have unending fires, burning through time and space. So too does Bernie burn, for she has immortal longings and infinite love. The love grows and grows, tearing across the world like a swift sunrise reaching out across all the leagues between them. These feelings can never die. Bernie will take them with her and outrun the shadow that follows in a dark crown. She will live.

All the great stories are about knights dying for those they love.  But Bernie will do something far braver. She will live. She will live for her love, for their strange little life together. Bernie wishes she had some token, some talisman to clutch and hold on to. She has nothing of Serena’s, not even a lock of hair, only the crow in the window, ever watching.

The bird had caused quite a stir, Dom tells her. It had flown from the rooftop to rest on her helmet, then flying away in an ominous manner. There are whispers, rumors about her now. For in the wild ravens and wolves travel and play together, the bird keeping watch as the wolf feeds, and the wolf leaving some for the raven.  The sight is rare but it is known, and the whispers grow louder every time the raven returns.

It comes nearly every day, though only for a moment. It rests upon the window sill, looking in but does not enter. It fluffs its feathers before eating the bread crumbs that Bernie insists Dom leave there every morning. She also insists he leave the window open, despite the cold. Bernie would rather be cold than miss the bird.  Only after she sees the raven does she sleep, drifting away after being awake all the night long. In this way she is an upside-down creature, nocturnal and wild with yearning in the night, only able to sleep once the early hours of the morning have come.

Bernie had left Holby Cathedral because she was afraid of death. The traveler’s wife who had died had been lucky, living out her days with the one she loved. But when she had faded away her face had transformed into Alex’s and Bernie had remembered that all men must die. And then, as she looked into Serena’s face on the cathedral steps she realized Serena would leave one day too, would go where Bernie could not follow, would disappear amongst the starlight. She had never been more afraid, not even in battle, with her own death possible every time she raised her shield and sword. The idea that Serena could die, would die left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the love that she saw twisted into an ugly false promise. Nothing lasts forever.

_It makes one wonder what the point is._

Bernie knows it is a depressing way of looking at love. Fear of love ending was her reason for fleeing, for riding away in the darkness. It is not a very good reason, but it is why she left, panicked and afraid of her own inability to live without rendering her life into wreck and ruin. She has had so few friendships, has destroyed them all or watched them perish in violence. She will not destroy Serena, nor can she watch her die. Bernie could not bear it.

But this existence is unendurable. Bernie does not think she can endure life without Serena. The hollowness sinks into her and her body is heavy with it. Her soul is even heavier, and she feels horrible, empty, and lonely. Her grief is dragged across the floor whenever she attempts to walk, holding her in its grip. She brought this separation upon herself and she does not want it anymore.

So Bernie walks further and further every day, growing stronger. She walks to the door, then to the window then back to bed. One day she reaches the winding stairs that lead down to the great hall before she has to turn back. The next week she presses on to the courtyard and stands in the snow, her eyes closed and face turned upwards as the snowflakes slowly dance before settling in her hair. She breaths in the frosty air, feeling relieved to be outside after weeks of feeling trapped. Her spirit was always a bit unruly and the winter sun restores her. Her strength returns slowly but surely. 

The day she is able to walk all the way up the mountain without pain is the day the raven comes with parchment tied to its leg. The message is gently rolled up, small and delicate, clinging to the bird with a red ribbon tied around it in a graceful bow. Bernie sits on the stump and is unfazed when the bird settles on her shoulder.

She unrolls the parchment slowly, almost afraid of the words that flew across the sky. Bernie cannot bring herself to read it just yet. Instead she looks across the valley and sees the snow melting and thinks that spring is just around the corner. The white flowers on the forest floor will be blooming soon, and the time of togetherness will come, giving new life to the land.

It would be almost a year ago that she met Serena.

Bernie looks down at the parchment in her hands and reads Serena’s words gently written in that swooping way she has with a quill. She worries at the brevity, knowing Serena is always one to use many words, loving to speak and chatter. But the words are good, short and sorrowful, the message a summoning, a call across the distance.

"I am tired of being angry. It is time to come home. I need you."

It is as if Serena’s own voice whispers the words in her ear and Bernie shivers at the ghosting sensation on her neck. She reads and rereads, memorizing the words until she rolls up the parchment and tucks it away in her pocket. Bernie pulls out bread crumbs and holds them out in the palm of her hand. The bird pecks gently at them, avoiding her skin. When the bread is finished she turns to the mighty raven and whispers.

“Tell her I am returning.”

Bernie watches the bird take off, flying low over the vale, away and away, until it is a black speck against the white of the melting snow. She stands and slowly makes her way down the mountain.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

In the early hours of the morning Bernie rises and heads to the stables. Torchlight flickers in the courtyard and Bernie looks up to see the fading of the stars as sunlight creeps over the horizon. Springtime chill still lingers in the air, and Bernie’s hands are stiff as she loads the saddlebags with supplies. The load is not heavy and Bernie intends the journey to be light and swift.

She guides Charlotte with a quiet word and a soft hand on the reigns, leading her out of the stables and to the Iron Gate. As she approaches the gate the sun rises and the final star disappears, the crescent moon lingers low in the sky. Bernie smiles when she sees Dom leaning casually against the stone, his arms crossed and eyebrows arched knowingly. He smiles back when she is near and speaks quietly.

“Where are you off to on this fine morning?”

“Home,” Bernie says softly, her eyes falling to the ground. She suddenly realizes she will miss Dom, his kindness, his laughter.

“To the one who got away?”

She looks back up and smiles once more. “Very much the one.”

Dom grins and nods his head in the direction of the road. “Off you go then.”

As Bernie passes the young healer she pauses and turns to him. She places her hand on his shoulder, squeezes gently, and looks into his eyes. Bernie often cannot find the language to express herself, and words fail her now. Instead she reaches out, shares a meaningful and thankful look, and turns away to the road. She does not look back. 

The winter is over and gone but the rains have been substantial. The road is clear but muddy, and the traveling is slow. Bernie rides Charlotte for most of the morning, winding her way down to the south and out of the mountains.

In the afternoon the plains stretch out before her, rolling hills and green pastures. Stone walls crisscross the earth, moving up and down with the sloping of the ground. Sheep ignore the walls and cross the road at will, causing Bernie to dismount and slowly weave her way through the sea of wool. Bernie laughs at the shepard girl scampering after the herd with a staff and a sharp tongue, calling them back to their field. Bernie helps her for a little while, shooing and whistling, drawing the errant animals back across the road. The girl raises a hand in thanks as Bernie rides on.

The afternoon light fades as Bernie leaves the foothills, coming to a valley with a wide river. It is the river that will wind and meander all the way back to Holby Cathedral. She sighs at the sight, breathing in the evening air, feeling the weariness of travel in her shoulders and back. How she longs to be home.

She sets up camp by the river, a small fire on the bank and Charlotte grazing on the grass by the water. Bernie does not bother with a tent, the sky clear and promising many stars. She leans back and carefully lays down to rest on the ground, a bedroll beneath her. Her back has not troubled her, but it aches from the riding.

Once she is laid down fully Bernie turns to the sky. She searches for the princess and the dragon, traces the constellations with her finger, reaching up into the darkness. The night is dark and the stars seem closer than they have ever been, as if Bernie could reach out and touch them. She feels warmed by their presence, their constant shining.

She thinks of Jason and Cameron, sitting by another fire in the clearing by the cottage. She thinks of Fletch and his children, Raf and Mo. She realizes as she lays there that Mo had probably already given birth. Bernie sends a quick prayer to the heavens for Mo and her child, and lets her mind wander to Serena.

Her head fills with memories and dreams of Serena and she drifts to sleep.

  
…

  
The third morning of the journey is cold and Bernie moves slowly, eating bread as she walks away from the river and back to the road. Charlotte nudges her softly for the carrot tucked away in her pocket. Bernie smiles fondly before holding it out to the horse.

They walk for a few hours until the sun is high above their heads and the air has warmed. Bernie looks ahead and sees a well at the turn in the road, sitting on the crest of a hill.

Bernie stops to rest, drawing up a bucket from the well. She dips the wooden ladle into the bucket and drinks the cool water. She closes her eyes and hums at the sensation before sitting down with her back against the stones.

Bernie closes her eyes again, resting her head gently on the cold rock, enjoying the sun shining and warming her face.

After a time she looks up at the sound of someone approaching.  
It is a young woman with dark skin and plaited hair. She is walking determinedly up the hill and towards the well, a bindle resting on her shoulder. The cloth tied to the end of the stick swings precariously as she marches closer. She reaches the summit and sits down beside Bernie in a huff, the bindle coming to rest between them in the grass.

“Do you know the way to Holby Cathedral?”

“Umm…” Bernie stammers, not knowing what to make of the young woman sitting next to her. She nods after a moment. “I am heading that way.”

“Oh good,” the woman exclaims. “I’ll go with you.”

“I… I’m not sure that is a good idea…” Bernie begins to decline but stops when she sees the tears forming in her new companion’s eyes.

“It’s just that… I have to get to Holby Cathedral.” Her lip is quivering and she turns to Bernie with large, gorgeous eyes and a quiet desperation Bernie cannot refuse.

“Alright.”

The traveler launches herself at Bernie, bringing her close into a sudden hug.

“Oh thank you! Thank you so much!” She pulls back and looks into Bernie’s eyes with a dazzling smile. “You won’t regret it I promise you.”

“Right,” Bernie mutters skeptically. She pulls away from the young woman and stands, moving towards Charlotte who seems unmoved by the stranger.

“I’m Morven by the way.”

Bernie turns back momentarily and mumbles “Bernie Wolfe.” She mounts the horse and clicks her tongue. Morven walks beside Charlotte and talks for most of the afternoon. Bernie finds the woman disarmingly charming, if not a bit odd. Apparently she has left home and wants to go to the cathedral to learn. She says she has healing written right through her.

Bernie remembers when she used to run away from home, dashing across the fields, farther and farther away until she reached the bend in the road. The castle would disappear round the edge of the forest and suddenly the unknown world was before her.

The world was suddenly unfathomably vast and frightening, her own bindle swinging on her shoulder as she stopped. Bernie remembers turning around and running back out of the forest, looking to see if the castle was still there, to see if it had disappeared in her absence, swallowed whole by the earth.

She was always immensely glad to see her home still standing on the hill, as if patiently waiting for her return.

The third day of the journey ends as Bernie approaches the river once more. She strokes Charlotte as the horse bends down to drink, her hoofs disappearing beneath the shallows. Morven gathers sticks for a fire, still talking. Bernie shakes her head in amusement, knowing Morven and Serena will get along just fine.

Suddenly, the raven appears in the sky, as if the very thought of Serena called her forth. It swoops down, flying low over the water and calling out in greeting. The bird slows and comes to rest on Bernie’s shoulders.

“Hello old friend,” she whispers softly.

The raven cocks its head curiously, fluffing its feathers and shaking off the wind from the journey. It settles and turns to look at Morven. 

“A new recruit,” Bernie explains gently. Bernie moves slowly over towards Morven, who seems less frightened than Bernie expected her to be. Morven’s eyes are locked on the bird and she reaches into her pocket slowly and pulls out some bread. The raven caws quietly before flying over and perching on Morven’s shoulder.

Morven smiles in delight as the raven eats the bread in her palm.

“She likes you,” Bernie murmurs.

“You think?” Morven asks uncertainly.

“Yes.”

Morven looks up at her, trusting and open.

Bernie smiles back.

  
…

  
The next evening they are lying side by side beneath the stars. Tomorrow they will reach the cathedral. Bernie cannot sleep and Morven is restless, turning from side to side, over and over. Bernie breaths in and out slowly, trying to lull herself to sleep. Her eyes open when Morven speaks quietly.

“You were a knight.”

Bernie sighs and smiles gently, looking over at Morven. 

“Yes.”

Morven turns fully towards Bernie, placing two hands beneath her chin. “Did you like it?”

“Sometimes,” Bernie says slowly.

“What did you fight for?”

Bernie ponders for a moment, her mind searching the years. “For a lot of things.”

“What kind of things?”

Bernie laughs at the questions, thinking back to when Cameron first started out as her squire. He would pester and pester with questions, always wanting and yearning for more. Bernie thinks his eyes were brighter then.

“For a home, I think.”

After a moment Morven asks softly, “Is the cathedral your home?”

“No,” Bernie whispers. “No, I live in the forest outside the city.”

“Tell me about it?”

Bernie looks over at Morven. She is turned away again, her hands resting beneath her head, her face turned towards the stars.

“My home?”

“Yes,” Morven murmurs.

Bernie turns away and looks up to the heavens as well. She closes her eyes and thinks for a moment, recalling the scents and images, the feeling of home.

“It is a small cottage in the forest. I… I built a stable there for Charlotte. There is a garden in the clearing, small but good. A stream flows nearby, with a willow growing on the bank.”

Bernie clears her throat, the longings searing and overwhelming.

“The house is cool in the summer, dry in the winter. It has a hearth in the center, two bedchambers on either side. Jason and Cameron share one, and I…”

She pauses for a minute, her voice growing thicker as she speaks.

“I share one with Serena. Sometimes she puts lavender under my pillow, and she sings to me when I am afraid. The bed is large and soft, and Serena holds me. She… she loves me.”

Bernie looks over and sees that Morven is asleep.

She turns back to the stars and talks to them instead. She speaks softly, as if her words are a prayer.

“Serena loves me and I love her. And I am coming home.”

  
…

  
The sun is shining the day she returns. Her horse is tired, the valley bright, and the cathedral still rising above the land like a pillar reaching out for heaven itself. Morven walks slightly behind Bernie, a little overwhelmed by the sight of the city. They wind their way through the streets, fishermen call out, and children run by, bartering is shouted in the marketplace, and the cathedral looms ahead. All is bustle and hum, blacksmiths are at work, and a storyteller spins wondrous tales for a crowd of children at her feet.

The round window above the large wooden doors is still there. The rose and pink spirals of the stained-glass glow in the sunlight and the stone gargoyles greet her with their wicked grins. Bernie looks up as she approaches and sees that Jason had not been idle in the winter months. The cathedral is higher than before, growing up and up, stones upon stones high above the city. Bernie wonders if it will ever be completed.

“Come,” she murmurs to Morven, and leads Charlotte through to the stables.

They walk across the courtyard and to the back of the cathedral. Jason is there, talking to the other builders. He moves towards her when he sees her, a smile upon his face.

“Bernie!”

“Hello Jason.”

He surprises Bernie by embracing her, his arms tight around her shoulders.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her shoulder.

“I-,” her voice fails her, her heart in her throat. Bernie pulls him closer still.

After a moment they pull apart, and Jason steps back, suddenly aware of Morven. He smiles and introduces himself, says he is the builder of the cathedral. Morven instantly begins questioning him about the arithmetic involved, the weight of the stones, and the pulleys of ropes. Jason, enchanted by the attention answers wholeheartedly, his enthusiastic and long winded answers filling the air.

Bernie stands there for a few minutes, glancing into the side door that is open to the spring air. She looks behind her and then cranes her neck to peer around Jason. After a minute she quietly interrupts.

“Jason, do you know where Cameron and Serena are.”

“Yes, Bernie. Cameron is with Raf in the villages to the south. They will be traveling home in a few days.”

“Ah,” Bernie says softly, disappointment seeping through her. But she will see him in a few days’ time.

“And Auntie Serena is at war.”

“What?” Bernie nearly barks the question, sudden fear gripping her.

“Yes, she is at war with the beetles. They are destroying the tomato plants in the garden.”

“Oh,” Bernie whispers and looks away to the stones beneath her feet. “Good.”

“It is in fact not good Bernie. I like tomatoes.”

Bernie smiles and excuses herself and Morven. She shows Morven the cathedral, the vast halls and the painted windows. She leaves Morven with Fletch, the two of them chattering away like old friends. Jason is back at work in the courtyard and Bernie suddenly feels a little lost.

So she turns back to the stables, mounts Charlotte and slowly trots out of the city and to the forest.  
She makes her way beyond the shadow of the cathedral, the sounds of the city growing fainter as she rides away. The trees at the edge of the forest sway in the wind, the leaves new and bright green. Clouds drift across the skies, and sunlight flickers in and out across the land, creating pockets of sunshine on the houseless hills. The woods are lovely, quiet, and still. Bernie hears birds singing softly some distance away. She whistles back the tune, and Charlotte flicks her ear in response.

Bernie looks to the hemlocks, the willows, the ancient trees whispering in the breeze. They begin to thin, spreading farther apart until suddenly, the path winds into the clearing. The light grows clearer and the sky is blue and vast above her. The sun is low in the sky, but just high enough to shine down into the clearing. On the edge of the glade, by the small cabin, she sees Serena, kneeling in the dirt with her back to Bernie.

Bernie slowly dismounts and lets Charlotte wander to graze. She draws nearer, her footsteps soft and silent. Serena is muttering to the tomato plants, her apron covered in dirt and her hair shining with the golden hour. Bernie longs to see her face, to bring her close, to tell her all that has happened. But she stops halfway across the clearing, growing still. She takes a breath, smells the soup that is brewing in the cottage, hears the willow singing in the gentle wind, and feels the peace in her heart. She is home at last. 

She calls out softly and with love on her lips.

“Serena.”

Serena goes still at the sound of Bernie’s voice. After a moment, she gracefully stands, placing her hands on her knees and rising up.

Serena slowly turns around.  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	7. Chapter 7

Serena is standing, tall and alone. Her back is to the cottage and her face is turned towards Bernie. She moves slowly across the clearing, her bare feet padding quietly on the grass. The journey across the wooded dell is long. It seems to take years and years, her whole life is traveled in those few footsteps across the way to her lover.

Serena’s hair is still shining in the twilight, and Bernie feels her heart ache at the sight. But as Serena approaches the pain and perpetual fog of the last few months rolls away, lifts, and then dissipates. Serena's hands come up to frame Bernie’s face, and Bernie sees dirt from the garden lingering beneath Serena’s fingernails. A flower is tucked in the string of Serena's apron, and her eyes are sparkling like jewels.

Bernie’s agony and hope intermingle and burst forth, the feeling of home bleeding everywhere. Her eyes slip shut as Serena’s hands settle on her face. She hears the wind rustle through the trees and the withered hedges, the scent of the pines soft and welcoming. Bernie opens her eyes as Serena speaks and breaks the silence.

“Bernie.”

Bernie wonders at the poetry in Serena’s fingertips, the magic in her smile. Bernie knows that no great song sung in the halls of Kings will ever be as spellbinding. She lets the inexhaustible and peculiar pleasure of simply standing next to Serena seep through her. She greets the feeling as an old friend, for she is returned after a long journey. Bernie trembles at the tenderness of Serena’s hands upon her face.

“Oh, my love,” Serena whispers. “You are looking at me like you love me.”

Bernie shivers at the echoed words, revels in Serena’s voice not heard for many months. She takes Serena’s right hand, pulls it from her cheek to bow her head over it. Her forehead grazes the skin of Serena’s knuckles and she rises slowly from the ceremonious greeting of a knight to a lady. It is the greeting they gave one another when they had first met by firelight. Bernie had thought Serena was a dream, a spirit come to bewitch her in the night.

When Bernie is standing once more Serena shakes her head. Her whisper is fierce and full of anguish, yearning, and hope. “I need to hear you say it. Please, Bernie.”

Bernie whispers it underneath the setting sun, the arriving stars, the great, dark sky. “I love you, Serena.”

Serena sobs, pulls her close, buries her head into Bernie’s shoulder. They cling together as darkness descends, the sun setting, and the moon rising on the edge of the forest. Serena’s cries lessen, until she is only sniffling into Bernie’s neck. Serena kisses the skin there, and Bernie’s eyes slip shut.

She gently hooks an arm beneath Serena’s knees, then wraps the other around Serena's shoulders. Serena whimpers as Bernie carries her through the field and over the threshold, through the cottage, and all the way to bed.

…

Serena cannot stop touching Bernie. Her fingers travel along Bernie's eyebrow, her palm caresses Bernie's cheek, her thumb traces Bernie's lips. “I missed your face,” Serena says warmly.

Serena leans in to kiss her again, and Bernie tangles her hands in Serena’s hair.

They stay in bed all night. Bernie tells her about Dom, the tournament, how she fell. Serena listens with her head tucked into Bernie’s shoulder and an arm wrapped around Bernie’s hip. Bernie tells her about Morven, the raven on the mountain, the letter hidden safely in her saddlebag. Serena whispers about her longing, how she missed Bernie’s voice, her hands, her laughter. She tells Bernie of the ever present ache in her heart, that she loves Bernie, that she will always love Bernie. Serena says she sent the raven because she loved her. She says that she cried when she heard that Bernie fell. Her heart had been so heavy that Serena thought she would die from the fear. Serena asks about Bernie’s back.  When Bernie describes the pain, Serena rises, tells her to lay on her stomach, and takes Bernie’s tunic off.

Bernie lies half naked in the bed as Serena whispers unfamiliar words over her back, strokes the skin and massages the muscles, kisses down her spine. After a time, Bernie turns over and pulls Serena down once more, presses her into the bed, kisses her slowly.

Bernie takes Serena with unhurried and deliberate movements, teasing her until her back is arched and her pleas desperate. She hovers over Serena, holding herself up with one hand, the other hand between Serena’s legs. Bernie goes slow, reacquainting herself with Serena’s moans, her hips, the tender skin of her inner thighs. She whispers wicked, wondrous things into Serena’s ear and grins when Serena gasps at the words. She comes undone, and Bernie works in and out, torturously light and loving.

Serena clutches Bernie and sobs as Bernie adds a third finger. Bernie has to say it again as she watches Serena fall apart. “I love you, Serena.”

Serena smiles.

The brilliance of the smile makes Bernie’s heart ache and she has to have her once more.

“Again,” Bernie whispers fiercely.

This time is fast, the kisses brazen; all tongues, and teeth, and desperation. It is hasty and wanton and Bernie feels wild with desire and love. She slips down the bed, kisses Serena’s breasts and soft stomach, buries herself between Serena’s legs. Bernie’s need is so great it frightens her, and when Serena is boneless and spent, Bernie drags her closer.

Bernie holds her in her arms, shivers at the sensation, the feeling of returning and finding the cottage still there in the glade. Serena still here, alive and well and in love. Bernie promises herself that she will never leave. Never again. Too long has she wandered the earth. Here, Bernie will dwell; in the cottage between the trees, with the sky a starry mantle, Serena’s hand in hers, and peace in her heart.

The weariness and relief of the day settles in her bones, and Bernie sleeps and dreams of the sunrise. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Bernie is happy.

Happiness is a strange, warm feeling in her belly. It endures after all these years, meanders and  wanders to her chest, and catches in her throat. Sometimes it is hard to speak, with warmth all over her body, stuck in her throat, tingling in her fingers. With time, happiness becomes a constant. It is an ever present sensation, a state of being, a steadiness. But happiness changes, just like the seasons of the Earth. Happiness grows and transforms, changes shape and flavor, until happiness is another thing altogether.

Now, it is summer, and happiness is found in the flowers on the table in the cottage. Happiness is in Jason’s laughter, Cameron’s smile, and the sight of Morven sitting surrounded by ancient texts underneath an oak tree on the edge of the clearing.

Cameron and Morven had fallen in love and married. They have a little girl called Annie, who has her mother’s hair and her father’s eyes. She laughs constantly, and wobbles about on uncertain feet. She follows Bernie everywhere. She is enchanted by butterflies, by the clouds racing above her head, and by Serena’s voice when she sings her a lullaby.

Annie calls Bernie and Serena “Grandma,” and there is happiness in that too.

Of course, there are times when Bernie is frustrated, when she and Serena fight. Too long have they been solitary creatures, not used to each other's ways. Sometimes Serena will disappear into the forest for days at a time. Eventually she begins taking Morven with her. Bernie accepts it, and understands that it is a path she cannot follow. So she waits, walks alone to the cathedral, and waters the garden until Serena returns. Serena always returns, stronger for the wandering, and better for the talking with the trees, for the singing to the moon.

On the evenings of the full moon, groups of children pour out of Holby and scamper through the forest. They run into the clearing with smiles and bits of supper tucked into their pockets. They gather at Jason’s feet, and listen to him weave tales of faeries and magic, danger and love. A tall and wild bonfire roars in the center of the meadow. The flames light up the night, glowing and casting long shadows on the tree trunks. The firewood crackles and smoke fills the air, drifting, then disappearing into the night. The crowd of children grows each moon, but the din is hushed when Jason begins to speak. He loves the stories, and captures the children’s hearts. He weaves intricate tales with a few words, and spellbinds the crowd with a whisper.

Storytelling is a skill Bernie taught Jason over the years.  They practiced together on long walks across the moors, trying out voices, feeling out dramatic pauses, creating the ending, then telling it again and again until the words were stuck in his brain and the story was simply pouring out, practiced and perfect.

When the stories are over, the children throw leafs into the fire, and watch them pop. With a hoot and holler they race back to the city, running with the light of the full moon to guide their way home. They run and run, until the cathedral is looming ahead, and the fires of the city are glowing through the thinning trees. Then, they call out to each other, “goodbye” and “goodnight”, as one by one they disappear into their homes, still enchanted by the stories ringing in their ears. The nightwatchman sits on the bottom step of the cathedral, and smiles as the children race by.

The stars are always bright on this night. Luminous beings, trekking for eternity across the skies, vanishing with the dawn, then appearing once more at twilight.

When it is all over and the children have gone, Bernie likes to sit with Serena. They lean back against the willow and Bernie smokes her pipe. She puffs out smoke rings and watches them travel across the water of the stream. Serena always closes her eyes and feels the moonlight streaming through the branches. She soaks up the cool light, and revels in its power. She curls her toes at the feeling, hums and stretches.

And when the moon is low in the sky, Bernie rises. She puts out her pipe and returns with Serena to the house, tiptoeing across the creaking wood, and sliding into bed.

In the morning they wake together, slow and unhurried. A breakfast of porridge and bread. Bernie picks apples from the tree on the journey to the city. She tucks one into her pocket, hands one to Jason, then tosses one to Serena. Bernie smiles at the memory of Serena throwing her an apple and then coming to rest beside her in the tall grass. Serena had asked Bernie to come live in the forest. And now, Bernie wanders the Earth no more. Bernie's journeys are short now, and consist of long walks to the moors with Jason, or a few days’ trek into the mountains with Serena.

The morning walk to the city is lovely. Cobwebs link trees to trees, and glimmer in the sunlight. Deep green ferns grow across the path, tall and wide. They leave the forest, and follow the widening road to the cathedral. Bernie looks up and wonders at how she can completely love an edifice that is so incomplete. The stones are gracefully stacked, one on top of the other. Scaffolding still snakes up the walls, and the bell tower still has no roof. Rain water leaks through the wooden planks, and large droplets drip down onto the heads of the congregation on gloomy Sunday mornings. The raindrops echo on the stone floor.

For Bernie, the forest is its own cathedral, and it too is incomplete. For it is still growing, up and up towards the heavens. The branches curl and lean over the path, and the leafs form an immense dome. Light flickers through the treetops, casting shadows here and there, patches of darkness and light on the ground, like the scattered pinks and blues of the stained glass window on the cathedral floor.

This place is filled with happiness, unlike the lonely canyons Bernie knew before. She still feels that loneliness sometimes. She feels it keenly in the afternoons when the world is strange, or when Serena is gone for many days. Bernie does not like it when Serena leaves. She worries.

Bernie worries about the days when their hands will be old and gnarled, when they will need wooden staffs to make the journey into the city. She worries about the day Morven will have to make her own way through the woods, about the day Serena can no longer be in the wilderness.

But it is not that day yet. Today, Serena’s eyes are sparkling as she treats patients in the hall. A line of villagers winds out the door. Broken fingers, coughs, fevers, stomach pains, and pregnant women. All come to see Serena. Bernie chuckles at villagers' loyalty, their wonder and admiration of the healer of Holby Cathedral. To them, Serena is like some fairy-tale come to life, a rumor on the tongues of old wives, a myth burned into the hearts of young children.

Jason loves to tell the children the story of Jac and Zosia, the dragon and her princess. On these nights Bernie will catch Serena looking at her in the firelight. Her gaze is like the morning after a storm, like the rain that melts the fallen snow that lies upon green pastures. The glance is like the feeling of the morning sun shining once more, when the world is all soft haze, with rainbows streaming through the drifting clouds. Serena looks across the crowd gathered before their small cottage, and glows in the firelight. In that moment, Serena looks at Bernie like she loves her.

And Bernie knows it is no illusion, no wild fevered dream. Bernie and Serena are in love. And they are happy.

On these nights Serena stays close. She holds Bernie’s hand and laughs as the children dance around the fire, singing folk songs of long-ago heroes. They stand together and wave as the children run, turning away to home. Serena looks after them for a long time. Then, she feels a tug at her skirts and kneels down. 

Annie wants to be held and whispers sleepily to Serena. “Up.”

Serena lifts her slowly, her hands still strong and firm. She places Annie on her hip, bounces and sways as they make their way into the cottage. Bernie hears Serena cooing and whispering great secrets to the little girl. Bernie stays and sits by the dying fire, and says goodnight to Jason. With a gentle nod, he disappears into the night, walking the short distance to his own cottage a little ways down the path. Cameron and Morven are at the cathedral tonight, and Bernie is all alone in the moonlight.

There is happiness in this too, in sitting in solitude beneath the stars. She watches the fire wind down, flickering and spurting, until it is only embers glowing in the darkness. It turns to smoke and ash, and Bernie lights her pipe and lays down in the dry grass. She hears Serena singing to Annie, a lullaby of islands and seas, of a long journey, and of a soldier returning home. She hears Serena come back into the night, and feels Serena settle beside her on the ground.

Bernie blows a smoke ring up above their heads. With a flick of her fingers, Serena turns the ring into a dragon with a long, wispy tail. It flies above them before disappearing into the night.

“Show off,” Bernie whispers.

“You love it.”

Bernie turns to see Serena looking at her, that same look.

Serena sighs, then whispers softly. “Tell me our story.”

“Do we have a story?” Bernie teases lightly.

Serena’s smile fades, and her face fills with gentle longing. Bernie moves closer, and takes Serena’s hand in her own. She smiles when Serena's fingers grip tight.

“Yes, Bernie,” she whispers. “We are all stories, in the end.”

Bernie smiles, and places her pipe on the ground. She turns towards Serena and begins.

The tale is long and winding. It goes across the world, beyond the seas and over the ruins of cities half sunk in desert sands. It starts on a rainy night, after a battle was won. And it does not end. For the tale is still being spun, like a half made shawl of stars, still unraveled on the loom.

But Bernie tells the story until Serena is asleep in her arms. The summer air is close and warm, and they will stay here until dawn, when it is time to walk with Annie to the cathedral. Bernie knows Annie will run and run, will trip over tree roots and leafs, and will chase the rabbits that peak out at her from their little holes in the ground. She knows that the raven will fly high above them, keeping a sharp eye on the road ahead. She knows that tomorrow will be a good day, that they will do good for the village, for the city, and for their people.

Bernie knows that their story is not yet finished, for there is so much yet to come.

And perhaps Jason is right and they will all turn to stardust. Jason says that Bernie and Serena will one day be a constellation in the heavens, so great is their story, and so joyful their love.

Bernie does not know what will be in the after. Perhaps she will be like a small stream, a tributary carving its way through the universe, until she rounds the bend, and joins a greater and mightier river. Or perhaps there is a heaven, and she will greet her fallen warriors with a strong arm and one last battle-cry.  There is so little known about the great wide world.

But Bernie knows that Serena will be there, that Serena will always be there. She knows that their story is still unfinished, still being spun and woven. And she knows one thing for certain.

That they will live happily, ever after.

 

 

The End

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art: Holby Cathedral](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10040216) by [Kayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayryn/pseuds/Kayryn)




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